Spring
by This account is very dead
Summary: Oliver saw him on a particularly cold Monday evening in Toronto. (art major!Oliver/Lui)


**Spring**

Oliver saw him on a particularly cold Monday evening in Toronto. Class ended late due to the professor wanting to critique each student's artwork personally, so he had missed his usual train home. The next one, according to the timetable on one of the many concrete pillars in the open station, wasn't due to arrive for another hour.

Oliver sighed and wrapped his scarf around his neck a little tighter, trying to block out the bone-chilling cold that had plagued the city long past what was considered Winter. Just great, he was planning on using his little free time that night to work on his final- being a third-year, finals began to feel like life or death to Oliver, and he desperately needed every minute he could get –but at this rate, it would be much too late to get any work done by the time he made it back to his apartment. Usually, a station as large as this would be bustling with commuters coming to and from the city, but it was completely barren at this late hour, save for a few stragglers. Faint moonlight streamed in through the cracks in the wood paneled ceiling, slightly illuminating the shadowy area in streaks, and a few snowflakes snuck in and planted themselves over the cold ground. Oliver would have been stunned at the dark beauty- it wasn't often he got to see the city this late at night –if he hadn't been so damn anxious about this art final.

Recently, none of his works had come out… right. He had ideas, sure, but whenever he tried to get them down on paper, all the motivation he had when he started just drained out of him. All he had been able to churn out onto the pages of his sketchbook were unfinished generic-looking sketches of anything from flowers to humans, scribbled over in pen. Naturally, when he turned up for the critique with only that to show as progress on his final, Alys, his prof, had not been terribly happy.

"Oliver," she told him through her thick French accent, peering at his scribbles, "you just need to find something that inspires you, _non_? Once you do that, beautiful works of art will bloom from your hands like the first flowers or spring after a long winter."

She smiled at Oliver, looking much too young to be a college professor, and held the sketchbook out. He took it, mulling the strange metaphor over in his mind.

"But," he bit his lip, cutting himself off._ I've tried everything, how will I know what inspires me?_ He never voiced his question, though, in fear of looking immature in front of his superior. Instead, he shook his head and walked off, waving a quick goodbye to Alys.

So now, here he was, over-analysing everything around him, from his spot on a metal bench by the back of the station, hoping to find the perfect thing to base his final off of. Alys had stressed that it could be anything in any medium, but it absolutely had to be meaningful to the artist, which was the problem. What was meaningful to Oliver?

Trains were pretty meaningful- he thought -they were an important part of his day, determining whether or not he got to school. Even as the thought floated through his mind, he knew that he was only humouring himself. He could barely care less about trains. Nonetheless, he pulled his well-used sketchbook out of his bag and set to work, scratching vague lines in black ink onto one of the few remaining blank off-white pages. Soon he had the general shape of a train car, all the proportions were right, the perspective was perfect, and the shading was spot on, but, ah, there it was. That feeling in the core of his brain, an agonizing, scraping feeling, like the gears of his mind had frozen in place and wouldn't turn any more. Soon, he was picking out the tiniest mistakes in his work, and no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he pushed himself, he couldn't bring himself to continue. Just like the rest, this sketch had become another unfinished scribble.

He groaned and slammed his pen down on the page, stretching out his arms. Maybe, he swallowed a rising lump in his throat, maybe art just wasn't for him any more. Maybe he should have gone into music like his parents had wanted. Maybe his real talent laid in business, like his sister's boyfriend, Yohio. He didn't know if his dream of a career in art was within reach any more. He just didn't know, and felt like he was going to cry.

But just as Oliver was about to decide to give up, put away his sketchbook, skip the rest of his classes, and wing his final, he looked up, and saw him.

He had to do a double-take. Had it been the usual time, Oliver would have overlooked this boy, but they were essentially alone in the station, and everything about what he was seeing seemed so… beautiful. His vision began to blur as he watched him standing there in the moonlight with his back to Oliver, one arm folded behind him, his hand coming to rest on his other elbow. His light red, almost peachy hair- which was complimented perfectly by the dark navy blue sky –and the end of his scarf fluttered as a gust of wind passed through the station. The same gust of wind rustled the heavy pages of his book, alerting him that he was staring. A different feeling came over him then, like a wave of calm washing over him, and Oliver blinked his hazel eyes a few times, as everything around him seemed to become more clear and colourful. He wanted to… He needed to…

He shook his head suddenly and snatched up his pen. The tip glided over the page easily, leaving dark, graceful streaks right over top of his earlier sketch of the train. He began with his head, and worked down to the ground, focusing on each and every fold in his clothing, each teensy detail of his form.

The blonde paused briefly every once in a while to glance back up at the boy, who had his nose buried deep into a novel from what he could see, feeling strangely comforted by his presence, even if they were separated by set of train tracks. Ever so slowly, he began to form a perfect portrait of this boy, but he was only about three quarters of the way done when he stopped.

He raised his vision from the page and stared blankly as the boy, now even more in shadow as clouds blocked out the little moonlight that Oliver was working by, places a slip of paper between the pages of his book and picked up his bag, shifting his weight from his right side to his left. On the back of his bag, a symbol was printed, the same symbol that represented the college that Oliver was studying art at. He felt strangely contented at his little discovery. Now he knew they had one thing in common.

Oliver paused and sighed to himself,_ what was he doing?_ He didn't even have the slightest idea who this person really was, and yet here he was, drawing him, staring at him, _wanting to know more about him. _He felt his face heat up a little, despite the freezing air around him, as he lifted his pen again with a shaky hand, but before he could make a single mark on the page, a train came between the two boys, bringing with it a violently cold wind, and broke through his inspiration like a bullet.

Oliver gasped and stood suddenly, almost knocking his sketchbook off of his lap and into the thin layer of snow under his feet.

_No! _

He ran towards the slowing train that divided him and his muse.

_I wasn't finished!_

His arms fell to his sides as it came to a complete stop. Through the closed doors on the other side of the car, there was no sign of the boy. He was already gone.

On Tuesday Oliver sat in the humid lecture hall impatiently. The clock seemed to be ticking slower than usual and he just couldn't stop his knee from bouncing under the table.

When he had gotten home the night before, he had tried to sketch something, _anything,_ but as he began to doze off, he found himself absentmindedly scribbling little portraits of the boy all over the page. Each one had one thing in common, none of them had a face, Oliver had never seen it, and realizing this in the morning made him not just want- but _need_ to see him again.

Alys's soft voice cut into Oliver's thoughts.

"Well, _mes __amis_, I think we'll end class here," Oliver stood up in a rush and banged his thighs against the table, making a loud noise echo through the lecture hall. Every head in the room turned to look at him as his face began to turn beet red, "_oh la la!_ Oliver, I'm sure you're very excited to leave, but there is no need to rush!" She said with a tinkling laugh as Oliver sunk back into the plastic chair, "I would just like to remind you all that you have until Monday to turn in your finished work for your final. After that, you have a week off for exams, and then semester two will begin, so make sure not to come back to this class by accident after Monday, although I would love to see you all again," she added with a sad smile. Alys was Oliver's favourite teacher, she genuinely cared about each and every one of her students. He would miss her, "All right, _au rivoir, tout la monde!_"

The blonde forced himself to take his time leaving the class with the wave of students, but once he was out in the cold winter air, he almost sprinted to the station. The anticipation had been building up inside of him all day, and now he could hardly wait to see _him _again.

When he got off the subway and made his way through the congested mass of commuters to the platforms, he immediately plopped down on the same bench from the night before. The train that he usually took to get home after class had already pulled in, and people had started boarding, but Oliver had no intention of taking it today, he had other plans. So he sat there watching the snow fall over everyone's heads and the little sliver of sun left over the city slowly disappear.

Soon, it was dark as night and the train hissed as it prepared to pull out of the station. Oliver heard the conductor's voice echo through the PA system-_ please stand clear of the doors, doors are now closing _–and hoped that he was making the right decision. He didn't want to waste his precious time that he could have been using to work on his final, although if this worked out, he would be anyway.

He sat around twiddling his thumbs for a little while longer, when the sound of shoes against concrete broke through the silence. Oliver tried not to get his hopes up- it could be anyone! –as he waited for the person to come up the stairs. When saw the familiar gentle, lanky form of the boy from last night step into the area with his thick book, though, it was all he could do not to cry out with joy. He was just as beautiful as Oliver remembered him.

Oliver hurriedly took out his sketchbook (while still trying to look casual, mind you) knowing he didn't have too much time before _he_ would leave.

As he began sketching on a brand new page, he found himself smiling. _How strange_, he thought, _when was the last time I actually enjoyed drawing?_

The ginger across from Oliver stooped for a moment to put his book back into his bag, but once again, he never turned around, leaving Oliver with a few more faceless sketches and a new sense of determination by the time the train pulled in, jarring him out of his art-stupor.

He _would _see his face, even if it took him all week.

Wednesday and Thursday went by the same way, Oliver just barely being able to sit through his lectures, rushing to Union station only to have to sit and wait for an hour before seeing _him._ He could almost feel his eyesight going, working in the dim moonlight all the time, but those were the only times he could get any work done, sitting in the cold and sketching. It certainly was strange, though, each time he saw _him, _Oliver could feel himself warm up, even as snowflakes fell around the two of them. It was pure bliss.

By Friday evening, he had almost gotten down exactly what he wanted to paint for his final, except for one small detail. All week, not _once_ did _he_ turn around and look at Oliver. He still had no idea what this boy's- who, Oliver had come to realize, he was completely crushing on –face looked like, and so his work had a gaping hole in the middle where eyes and a nose and a mouth would usually go. Sighing again, he carefully ripped the page out of the ring bindings of the sketchbook, as he had done with the rest of his sketches of the boy, and put them behind the front cover so he could easily refer it later.

Maybe he would just paint in a generic face, although it felt wrong. He bit his bottom lip nervously, his knee starting to bounce.

Oliver just couldn't take it any more, _he had to know._

But, then again, how could he get his attention? There was no way he could just call out to him like "_Excuse me, could you turn around? I've spent all week staring at you and I need to know what your face looks like."_

He leaned back on the bench and sighed. That would almost certainly make him not only hate Oliver, but probably make him stop using this train, and Oliver didn't think he would be able to keep pursing his dream without this boy.

_God, he was so dumb. _He still didn't know who this really was, he only thought he did from the little things he saw him do while he thought nobody was watching.

The way he always bent the spine of his book back each time he flipped a page, the way he tucked one slightly longer strand of hair behind his ear when a cold wind would blow through the platform, the way he always stood with his weight on his right leg, the way he was always absolutely, completely calm and still like a statue, the perfect model.

Then a thought hit him. Semester two was coming up rapidly, and that meant that this boy would have new classes, as well as Oliver, so they would both have different commuting times. _This could be the last time that he would see his inspiration._

Oliver didn't particularly like risks, but if that was what it was going to take to have _him _in his life, then it was a risk that he was willing to take. He gripped the sides of his sketchbook and stood up, legs shaking as he stepped towards the tracks that separated them.

"Um!" he cringed, maybe he had shouted just a little too loud. _He _lowered his book and Oliver's breath caught in his throat. _Crap_. He hadn't thought his sentence through- he had just been acting on a stupid, _stupid_ impulse – and now he had no idea what he was going to say. Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, knowing there was no backing out now, the boy had already heard him, "E-excuse me, er, I'm-"

The train sped right past him, causing Oliver to stumble back from the edge of the platform, gasping as he fell backwards. His eyes snapped open and so did his sketchbook, sending the loose sketches he had torn out flying all around him in the wind the train brought through the station.

He swore under his breath as he scrambled to pick them off the ground before the snow they had settled in made the ink bleed. He held on to them tightly, feeling a stinging behind his nose and a lump form in his throat.

He messed up. _Badly. _Oliver would get on his train and _he _would get on his and he would never see him again. He had missed his chance

Maybe this was for the best, he thought, fighting back tears, surely if he had met him, he would have been disgusted. _What kind of creep sits around and draws other people without their consent?_

Then again, love makes you do dumb things.

He stood up shakily and leafed through his papers to make sure he had everything as he waited for the train doors to open.

_Wait_. He stopped, and went through them again. _No way. _He went through them again.

He was missing one, and not just one of his little sketches, no. He was missing his final sketch. He wouldn't get another chance to redo it, _he _was gone!

Oliver looked around the station, eyes wild. Did it get caught under the train or something? Maybe he had missed it when he was picking up the rest of them? Then, his eyes caught something through the window in closed doors on the other side of the train.

He was still there. Oliver could see his waist as the boy bent over to pick something up off the ground. What was he still there?

"_Please stand clear of the doors," _Oliver swallowed. He hoped he wasn't making another stupid decision- he seemed to be good at making those –but this must have been a second chance, and Oliver wasn't going to let it get past him this time, _"Doors are now closing."_

And they did, the train chugging off a moment later. He knew that at the end, _he_ would be there, judging him, feeling violated, angry even. He looked down at his feet, there was no way he'd be able to face that.

Silence filled the station as the train sped off in the distance, taking everyone else that was in the station with it. Neither of the boys said anything for a few moments. Maybe he was too disgusted to speak.

"Did you draw this?" Oliver almost jumped at the voice that shattered the silence. He slowly, cautiously lifted his head, eyes as big as dinner plates.

Eyes as big as dinner plates indeed, he couldn't take them off of the sight in front of him. This was the face he had longed to see for so long, and finally seeing it felt like a breath of fresh air

He was staring down at the sheet of paper in his free hand and smiling in wonder, his wide amber eyes sparkling like stars, but when he turned them towards Oliver, the station around the two seemed to disappear, "It's beautiful!"

Oliver nodded dumbly, his face heating up, just as it did every time he say this boy, "Yeah, you are- ugh!" He choked, bringing a hand up to his face. _Did I really just say that?!_

The ginger just laughed, seeming to glow, "Y'know, I've been wanting to see this for a while now, I was beginning to wondering if you were ever going to show me,"

Oliver looked back up at him, caught off guard by his comment, "Hold on, _you knew?"_

"What, you thought I didn't?" Oliver nodded quickly, "Oh. Well, I did." He added with another numbing smile.

"And you weren't creeped out or anything?"

"Nah, I thought it was kind of sweet, actually." Oliver's face brightened. This was better than anything he could have hoped for, "I also saw that you looked kinda distressed when I came up late on Monday," He paused, trying to hold down a laugh, "and then when I left you made that face like an abused puppy, so I stayed late on Tuesday, too, to try to meet up with you again…" He trailed off, eyeing Oliver, who was beaming, almost on the verge of screaming with joy, "What's with that look?"

"_So did I!" _He cut in loudly, "I thought you took that train all the time, so I stayed late every day to see you! I-" he laughed, fumbling with his words, _"I think I love you!"_

_Crap- Augh, no, Damn! _Oliver stepped back and whacked himself in the face with his sketchbook, sure that he was turning a variety of shades of red.

"Really?" The boy laughed, Oliver cringed behind his sketchbook-shield, "shouldn't we at least know each other's names first?"

Oliver stayed silent for a moment, and then mumbled, "…Oliver,"

"Nice to meet you, Oliver!" the blonde could almost hear the grin in his voice, "I'm Lui. Okay, _now _try it."

Oliver lowered his sketchbook to peek over the top and took a deep breath.

"Lui," The word tasted sweet on his tongue, "I love you."

Lui nodded like he had just decided what to wear, and jumped down off the edge of the platform on to the tracks. Oliver stared, afraid that a train would come through at any moment, but the last train had been the final one for the night. The ginger climbed up the other side, slipped the drawing behind the front cover of Oliver's sketchbook, pushing it away from his face in the process, and pecked him on the check, "I love you too."

The two ended up going back to Oliver's art class to ask Alys for a ride to his apartment. She was happy to oblige, as she lived in the same direction.

"Thank you so much, Alys," Oliver said when they arrived. Lui had explained on the way that he lived at least an hour's drive in the opposite direction, so Oliver decided that he could stay the night with him. He liked learning little things like that about the other boy, seeing as he hadn't known anything about him only a little while before.

"No problem, _vous deux_," She looked over he shoulder at them from the front seat as they stepped out of her small car.

The two boys were on their way to the front doors of the complex when Alys called out to Oliver. He stopped and stepped back towards the car, leaning in the open window.

"You look less worried, I'd assume you've found your inspiration, _non?_"

Oliver looked behind him at Lui, who was waiting for him to finish speaking with Alys, looking like he did when Oliver had first seen him.

He smiled, "Yeah, I suppose you could say that."

Alys waved goodbye to them as they walked through the cold air and snow, but if they had been paying any attention at all to their surroundings instead of being so focused on each other, they would have seen flowers beginning to sprout from under the thin layer of snow.

The first flowers or spring after a very, very long winter.

* * *

HI THERE I CAN'T WRITE AND IT'S VERY COLD OUTSIDE.

Here in Canada, winter has dragged on much too long, and the other day the temperature was _actually in the positives! _Great, eXEPT THAT THERE WAS A **GODDAMN BLIZZARD** OVER NIGHT AND NOW THE TEMPERATURES ARE LOWER THAN EVER.

With the hope that I can take this polar vortex and _move it somewhere else, _I have written a warm fluffy thing. Enjoy!


End file.
